Hello all,
Today is the day! I'm so excited! It's like I'm finally getting a niece/nephew that I can really love! Today we are getting DTV. I could just cry. Bravo, TLC, MTV, VH1......sniff, sniff....my cup runneth over. My dad could not figure out how to make the digital converter box work through the VCR so instead he scrapped the whole idea and decided to get DTV. Usually I would discourage the drastic act of him spending money when we already bought the equipment to make it work, but not today. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. I don't think I'll sleep for weeks.
And in the wake of that tremendous news, I have something to confess. I must ask that you refrain from judging me until I reach the end of the story. I answered a craigslist ad.........NO JUDGEMENT!!! It was not a hook up ad. It was a nice ad with only face pictures and a nicely constructed, genuine paragraph. Well, we chatted a bit via email and decided to meet at a bar in Indy. I'm calling this guy Mr. A.
I always like to be early, I feel like it gives me the upper hand. So I did a lap of the bar and waited for Mr. A. Oh, and I will preface this whole story by saying, that on the whole, I don't get hit on too often, except by 60 year olds with an Opie fetish and socially inept 30 year olds who own cats-I am very allergic.
So, I was waiting for Mr. A and I was approached by a tall, dark, and handsome man in a corduroy blazer and glasses, Mr. C.
Mr. C: "Uh, hi! Are you alone here."
Me: "Hi, for a little while."
Mr. C: "Would you like to come over here to the bar and chat? Can I buy you a drink?"
It was like I was on some type of dating show. I mean, I'm no gargoyle, but it was SO nice. I found out that Mr. C is from Chicago, hence the C, and was in town for a convention for the Illinois board of education. Truth be told I like a learned man, so I was already hooked. He was very complimentary and he and his friends decided right in front of me that I had to be at most 19. I like to stay out of the sun, so I get that more often than you would guess, after about 20 min. or so he and his friends were moving on to the next bar and asked me if I would like to join him. I told him that I was meeting someone so I declined the offer,we traded numbers, and I thanked him for the drink.
And since I had such great luck leaning against a pillar, I went back to that spot, location, location, location. After just a few minutes, I was approached by a blonde man in a baseball cap and after chatting for just a few minutes I learned he was from Boston- Mr. B.
Mr. B: "Uh, hi. Are you here alone?"
Me: "Hi, for a little while."
Mr. B: "Do you want to come over here and chat? Can I buy you a drink?"
I informed Mr. B that I was meeting someone who would be there at any time, but he was not phased. Mr. B had just moved from Boston to find a new place to live and to escape the wreckage of a past relationship. Normally I would have avoided this guy after saying this, but he was cute enough to keep the ball rolling. I told him of my past relationship and we bonded over that. He was shocked to hear that mine was for 5 1/2 years, because again he thought I couldn't be more than 19 years old. He then told me that his past relationship lasted for 10 years!!
Just as I was giving him my number Mr. A finally showed up. Awkward. But I think I handled it as well as could be expected; thanking Mr. B for his time and moving to the main event.
Though I had seen pictures of him online, Mr. A was shockingly tall and lanky, both attributes I am perfectly fine with. But if I looked 19 to the rest of the bar he had to have been 17, tops. He informed me that he was 27, graduated from a local university and lives with his aunt who is going through a divorce. I thought that was a little odd but his next question would leave me captivated for the next few hours.
Mr. A: "Do you have a cat? I'm so allergic."
Out of nowhere, "Do you have a cat?". I have often wanted to ask that because I can't count the number of times I have gone home with a guy and woken asphyxiated by my own mucus and seen a cat at the foot of the bed in the morning. Seeing as how the dating pool is more treacherous than I can explain, I took this commonality as a good omen. He told me that he didn't really drink too much and only liked fuzzy navels, with not too much alcohol, and commented on how straight I seemed with my beer.
That is the first time anyone has ever called me straight looking in my entire life. ENTIRE LIFE.
We then proceeded to chat about how normal we both seemed for having meet online and our interests. He made it a point to inform me that he is one of the biggest fans of Justin Guarini, the runner up in the first season to American Idol, in the country. Strike one.
As the night progressed I tried to interest him in dancing and other forms of contact, but he did not respond. He told me how cute he thought I was many times but didn't advance at all. Mixed signals, party of one, mixed signals, party of one.He was more of an awkward 17 year old that I could have imagined. Aren't we gay men? Aren't we all nice, animated guys who are all whores on some level? He affectionately pecked me on the cheek a few times and then out of nowhere told me that he wasn't going to make out with me. Strike two.
As the bar was at last call, we looked at eachother puzzled on how to end the evening. He asked where I was parked and if he could drive me to my car. He had just gotten the new Madonna live tour CD and wanted to listen to it with me while we trade massages at 3 AM on a Saturday night. Strikes three, four, and five. OUT!
He was very nice but I should have known there was something up with him when he told me that his longest relationship was for a month in college. As a 27 year old, if that's your longest relationship you're probably damaged goods. I haven't heard from him, and that's ok, but I have been texting and chatting to Mr. C, and on that note I would like to issue a preventative apology.
I would like to apologize to one of my brothers, with whom shares a name with Mr. C. I may have gotten your numbers mixed up in my phone and if you have received any texts or pictures via phone that may have seemed more than brotherly.....or down right slutty, please disregard.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Cabin Fever
Hello all,
Last night is snowed 14 in. around my house. Mom got off school for the day, I was off work, and Dad’s wallet was lost. It has been a long day being trapped in the house, much like The Shinning without any of the entertaining dead people or waves of blood. I assume that if we were strangers we would have systematically killed each other by now and worn the previous victim’s scalp as a headdress, but seeing as how we are in a recession and not in the way of paying for a funeral, we have avoided this costly expenditure.
“YES MOTHER, I know how to do my laundry”
“Yes, I have seen that it has snowed and it IS amazing.”
“No, I do not commonly watch this soap opera, and seeing as how you have no consideration for me, please watch whatever the hell you want.”
“YOU KNOW WHAT?!? I don’t have a problem with you, but the problem I have with you IS is that you are not listening to me!”
Now I must confess that I did not say all of these things, but I did say some of them. Can you guess which ones I did say? You’ll be surprised.
My grandparents are like birds and retreat to Florida resulting in my dad collecting all of their movies for the entire winter. He get’s The King and I, yay, Fiddler on the Roof, yay, and Centennial, a miniseries about 100 years in American history told through the acting of a handful of C-list actors from the eighties, boo. My mom tells me that I would like it if I just sat down and watched it, but somehow a movie where a sandy-haired Mark Harmon and Pocahontas save the West from the imperialistic U.S. Navy does not interest me.
Yesterday I decided that I was sick of eating the same old 5 meals my mom makes and that I would delve into the culinary world and make my parents dinner. I went to the market and bought the ingredients to make fresh green beans, mashed potatoes with sweet and Yukon potatoes-from scratch, and stuffed bell peppers. All things I can make from memory, thank you very much.
I cooked for 3 hours. 3!, with no help from anyone. I served the plates and when Mom came into the kitchen and picked up one of the beans and ate it she rolled her eyes at me.
Me: “what.”
Mom: “Nothing. No, nothing.”
“I like them crunchy, that’s how I like them.”
“No, no, I think there fine, but I’m not so sure your father is going to like them.”
Dad looked as though there was an invisible man with a gun to his head throughout the whole meal. “Come on man!!!! Eat the God damn fresh food prepared for you by your most talented son!!!!” I imagine the man would say. Dad would lumber over to the other side of his plate and begrudgingly place a morsel in his mouth.
Half way through the meal Mom said, “……..Now, would it offend you if I get some ketchup for this?”
“I don’t care what you do,” I said.
“Well, there is no need for that!!!” she said as she drowned my balanced and nutritious meal in generic ketchup.
I will not be cooking for them again anytime soon. And just so we’re clear, the food tasted great.
Last night is snowed 14 in. around my house. Mom got off school for the day, I was off work, and Dad’s wallet was lost. It has been a long day being trapped in the house, much like The Shinning without any of the entertaining dead people or waves of blood. I assume that if we were strangers we would have systematically killed each other by now and worn the previous victim’s scalp as a headdress, but seeing as how we are in a recession and not in the way of paying for a funeral, we have avoided this costly expenditure.
“YES MOTHER, I know how to do my laundry”
“Yes, I have seen that it has snowed and it IS amazing.”
“No, I do not commonly watch this soap opera, and seeing as how you have no consideration for me, please watch whatever the hell you want.”
“YOU KNOW WHAT?!? I don’t have a problem with you, but the problem I have with you IS is that you are not listening to me!”
Now I must confess that I did not say all of these things, but I did say some of them. Can you guess which ones I did say? You’ll be surprised.
My grandparents are like birds and retreat to Florida resulting in my dad collecting all of their movies for the entire winter. He get’s The King and I, yay, Fiddler on the Roof, yay, and Centennial, a miniseries about 100 years in American history told through the acting of a handful of C-list actors from the eighties, boo. My mom tells me that I would like it if I just sat down and watched it, but somehow a movie where a sandy-haired Mark Harmon and Pocahontas save the West from the imperialistic U.S. Navy does not interest me.
Yesterday I decided that I was sick of eating the same old 5 meals my mom makes and that I would delve into the culinary world and make my parents dinner. I went to the market and bought the ingredients to make fresh green beans, mashed potatoes with sweet and Yukon potatoes-from scratch, and stuffed bell peppers. All things I can make from memory, thank you very much.
I cooked for 3 hours. 3!, with no help from anyone. I served the plates and when Mom came into the kitchen and picked up one of the beans and ate it she rolled her eyes at me.
Me: “what.”
Mom: “Nothing. No, nothing.”
“I like them crunchy, that’s how I like them.”
“No, no, I think there fine, but I’m not so sure your father is going to like them.”
Dad looked as though there was an invisible man with a gun to his head throughout the whole meal. “Come on man!!!! Eat the God damn fresh food prepared for you by your most talented son!!!!” I imagine the man would say. Dad would lumber over to the other side of his plate and begrudgingly place a morsel in his mouth.
Half way through the meal Mom said, “……..Now, would it offend you if I get some ketchup for this?”
“I don’t care what you do,” I said.
“Well, there is no need for that!!!” she said as she drowned my balanced and nutritious meal in generic ketchup.
I will not be cooking for them again anytime soon. And just so we’re clear, the food tasted great.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
I Eat Poop.
Hello all,
The other day I talked to a friend on the phone and told him that I was talking to Fuckhead again. As with everyone else in my life, he told me that I was stupid for doing it but understood my reasoning, guised in sentiment for something that was already sour.
Well, he and everyone else were right. Although in the beginning of our conversations, Fuckhead was 2% better than he was before it all boiled down to the same thing. He said he would call and he didn’t, it’s been 6 days now, no call. I, in turn, have become a 13 year old girl with my main hobby being making sure his voicemail box is always full so he can’t receive any new messages. I claim that it’s a result of me being annoyed and not mad, but I never was a good liar. The thing is is that I thought I was over this. New Year’s was MY new year. I feel better, I’m excited to move forward, but he still lingers in my head, and not only because he has all my stuff. Arg…
In my second year in college my parents adopted my fourth brother. He was 2 ½ years old and had been rescued from an abusive family; I am talking, of course, of their Boston Terrier, Spike. Now, I love him dearly as well, but they coddle him like a baby with Downs who just scored a perfect SAT score everytime he comes in out of the cold.
My dad looks at him with such pride. Hello? Who scored 3 points in 3 years of middle school basketball? It sure wasn’t him! AND, who became a completely unsuccessful ballet dancer with an $80,000 BFA, huh? Not him! That was ALL me……..maybe he had a point. Every night Spike and my mom wrap themselves up in micro-fleece blankets and doze from 7pm-12am pretending to watch TV until it’s time for bed. Cooing and nudging eachother while I’m left to interpret what’s happening on syndicated Sex and the City. What season is this? How long was Carrie with Aiden? Why is Samantha such a small part? I can answer all of these, but when Spike decides he’s too hot and peeks out of the blanket for air, he’s a genius.
Today I was outside on a potty break with the dogs and as I called for Spike I saw him eating a pile of his poop. I knew he did this because of the way his breath smelled, but actually seeing him eating it was a vivid sight. Why was he eating his poop? Is he trying to clean it up? Does it taste good?
I thought of how disgusted I was at this and I immediately knew why all my friends and family acted the way they did when I told them I was looking at starting things back up with Fuckhead. Why would I do this, AGAIN? Am I trying to make it better? Does it feel good?
My emotional baggage with Fuckhead is my poop and I keep on eating it. I reek of it. All my friends are like, “Ug, here comes Noah with his poop breath.” And trying to appear cool and available at a bar when I have the poop of a 5 ½ year relationship smeared across my face is getting me nowhere. I try talking to new people about my life but inevitably a steaming pile of crap falls out of my mouth and I appear desperate and crazy.
Spike waits for Mom and Dad to come home and feed him, so do I. Mom and Dad yell at Spike when he’s been outside for too long, they yell at me too. He get’s overly excited when new people come to the house, so do I. He struts around the house with a sense of entitlement although he contributes in no way, I don’t either. Maybe my brother from another mother and I aren’t so different after all. I will still yell at him to stop eating his poop, I only wish he could do the same.
The other day I talked to a friend on the phone and told him that I was talking to Fuckhead again. As with everyone else in my life, he told me that I was stupid for doing it but understood my reasoning, guised in sentiment for something that was already sour.
Well, he and everyone else were right. Although in the beginning of our conversations, Fuckhead was 2% better than he was before it all boiled down to the same thing. He said he would call and he didn’t, it’s been 6 days now, no call. I, in turn, have become a 13 year old girl with my main hobby being making sure his voicemail box is always full so he can’t receive any new messages. I claim that it’s a result of me being annoyed and not mad, but I never was a good liar. The thing is is that I thought I was over this. New Year’s was MY new year. I feel better, I’m excited to move forward, but he still lingers in my head, and not only because he has all my stuff. Arg…
In my second year in college my parents adopted my fourth brother. He was 2 ½ years old and had been rescued from an abusive family; I am talking, of course, of their Boston Terrier, Spike. Now, I love him dearly as well, but they coddle him like a baby with Downs who just scored a perfect SAT score everytime he comes in out of the cold.
My dad looks at him with such pride. Hello? Who scored 3 points in 3 years of middle school basketball? It sure wasn’t him! AND, who became a completely unsuccessful ballet dancer with an $80,000 BFA, huh? Not him! That was ALL me……..maybe he had a point. Every night Spike and my mom wrap themselves up in micro-fleece blankets and doze from 7pm-12am pretending to watch TV until it’s time for bed. Cooing and nudging eachother while I’m left to interpret what’s happening on syndicated Sex and the City. What season is this? How long was Carrie with Aiden? Why is Samantha such a small part? I can answer all of these, but when Spike decides he’s too hot and peeks out of the blanket for air, he’s a genius.
Today I was outside on a potty break with the dogs and as I called for Spike I saw him eating a pile of his poop. I knew he did this because of the way his breath smelled, but actually seeing him eating it was a vivid sight. Why was he eating his poop? Is he trying to clean it up? Does it taste good?
I thought of how disgusted I was at this and I immediately knew why all my friends and family acted the way they did when I told them I was looking at starting things back up with Fuckhead. Why would I do this, AGAIN? Am I trying to make it better? Does it feel good?
My emotional baggage with Fuckhead is my poop and I keep on eating it. I reek of it. All my friends are like, “Ug, here comes Noah with his poop breath.” And trying to appear cool and available at a bar when I have the poop of a 5 ½ year relationship smeared across my face is getting me nowhere. I try talking to new people about my life but inevitably a steaming pile of crap falls out of my mouth and I appear desperate and crazy.
Spike waits for Mom and Dad to come home and feed him, so do I. Mom and Dad yell at Spike when he’s been outside for too long, they yell at me too. He get’s overly excited when new people come to the house, so do I. He struts around the house with a sense of entitlement although he contributes in no way, I don’t either. Maybe my brother from another mother and I aren’t so different after all. I will still yell at him to stop eating his poop, I only wish he could do the same.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Same Ol', Same Ol'
Hello all,
Since the my parents computer at home sounds like it has hamsters playing sloppy catch with lug nuts in it, I am at the Pendleton Library, or as they say in Virginia, "Liberry". Seriously, they did, one more factor that contributed to my undoing. Being surrounded by people, who for the most part speak correctly, is a luxury I have rarely been awarded. In high school I was constantly battling with my dad who puts an "R" in wash. The president lives in WaRshington D. C., sometimes the waRsher breaks and we have to wait to waRsh our clothes. It's odd, if someone from Boston adds an "R" to the end of idea, it's somewhat humorous, this is a different story. But, what are ya gonna do?
Anyways, I have been talking to Fuckhead recently....I know, don't roll your eyes at me. After his birthday, I wanted to get my things back. In the beginning of our relationship I would always give him something of mine that was very special to me, something that I wanted to see every day. Being the youngest child I am very possessive, so naturally I would look for what I gave him, but if he had it I knew I would think about him too ( and not only cause he had my stuff). Well, we continued this tradition for quite some time. And with my things that he still has, he said that if he gave them up than he would be letting go of something he wasn't ready to do yet.
I know what you're thinking, "Noah, he lives in a different state!, Noah, he fucked you over many times...times, PLURAL!, Noah, he's a ballless chode who is just messing with you so he can feel better!" I know, I know all of this. But, if I didn't give him a sporting chance, I wouldn't be able to feel like the better person at the end of the day. And although I am not sleeping well as a result of our awful conversations on the phone, in the deepest part of my soul, I feel like a better person. Tis better to have loved and gotten fucked over and tried to get back together numerous times and sold parts of your soul to a small addiction to vodka and lost than to have never loved at all............or something like that, no?
After a very harrowing conversation with my knight in shinning Fuckhead, I received a text message from a number to which I had not saved the name.
"i miss you...grrr"
It was just what I needed. Fuckhead clearly does not miss me enough and I'm awesome. Think about how awesome I must be if a person I don't even know misses me and follows it with a tawdry "grrr"! Though when you think about it, "grrr" is a little weird. I responded:
Me: "What do you mean by grrr?"
Him: "U diss like and it makes me go grr, sorry"
What the hell does that mean?!?!? I was puzzled for a solid 3 min. before I wrote back:
Me: "What are you smoking? I have no idea what you are talking about."
Him: "I don't smoke anything....u blew me off and it bothers me..."
Still having no clue who this person was, "blew" suddenly became a very ambiguous word. Did I know him and stop talking to him? Did I not know him and walk away? Did we meet in the bathroom? No clue.
Me: "Why are you telling me this?"
Him: "because i miss u silly..."
"Silly"? Seriously? Huh. I was trying to pull some facts out of him but he was a tough nut.
Me: "Miss is an awfully strong word."
Him: "ok... sorry to bother you then...."
Me: "That's ok."
Was that it? How would I find out who this was? Who missed me so much? A couple of weeks ago, when Mr. Lives-with-Grandma wouldn't leave me alone, I deleted his name out of my phone and when he called me back and wanted to talk I fed him a good line, so I used it again.
Me: "I'm sorry. I just cleared numbers out of my phone. I thought I'd be able to tell who this was by but you were saying but I'm still not sure."
Him: " nevermind NOAH.....wow....."
Me: "Alrighty then."
I imagine that it was Mr. Lives-with-Grandma again. We only talked for 2 days! One of two things is true; I make quite an impression or his life sucks hard. Maybe both are true.
Since the my parents computer at home sounds like it has hamsters playing sloppy catch with lug nuts in it, I am at the Pendleton Library, or as they say in Virginia, "Liberry". Seriously, they did, one more factor that contributed to my undoing. Being surrounded by people, who for the most part speak correctly, is a luxury I have rarely been awarded. In high school I was constantly battling with my dad who puts an "R" in wash. The president lives in WaRshington D. C., sometimes the waRsher breaks and we have to wait to waRsh our clothes. It's odd, if someone from Boston adds an "R" to the end of idea, it's somewhat humorous, this is a different story. But, what are ya gonna do?
Anyways, I have been talking to Fuckhead recently....I know, don't roll your eyes at me. After his birthday, I wanted to get my things back. In the beginning of our relationship I would always give him something of mine that was very special to me, something that I wanted to see every day. Being the youngest child I am very possessive, so naturally I would look for what I gave him, but if he had it I knew I would think about him too ( and not only cause he had my stuff). Well, we continued this tradition for quite some time. And with my things that he still has, he said that if he gave them up than he would be letting go of something he wasn't ready to do yet.
I know what you're thinking, "Noah, he lives in a different state!, Noah, he fucked you over many times...times, PLURAL!, Noah, he's a ballless chode who is just messing with you so he can feel better!" I know, I know all of this. But, if I didn't give him a sporting chance, I wouldn't be able to feel like the better person at the end of the day. And although I am not sleeping well as a result of our awful conversations on the phone, in the deepest part of my soul, I feel like a better person. Tis better to have loved and gotten fucked over and tried to get back together numerous times and sold parts of your soul to a small addiction to vodka and lost than to have never loved at all............or something like that, no?
After a very harrowing conversation with my knight in shinning Fuckhead, I received a text message from a number to which I had not saved the name.
"i miss you...grrr"
It was just what I needed. Fuckhead clearly does not miss me enough and I'm awesome. Think about how awesome I must be if a person I don't even know misses me and follows it with a tawdry "grrr"! Though when you think about it, "grrr" is a little weird. I responded:
Me: "What do you mean by grrr?"
Him: "U diss like and it makes me go grr, sorry"
What the hell does that mean?!?!? I was puzzled for a solid 3 min. before I wrote back:
Me: "What are you smoking? I have no idea what you are talking about."
Him: "I don't smoke anything....u blew me off and it bothers me..."
Still having no clue who this person was, "blew" suddenly became a very ambiguous word. Did I know him and stop talking to him? Did I not know him and walk away? Did we meet in the bathroom? No clue.
Me: "Why are you telling me this?"
Him: "because i miss u silly..."
"Silly"? Seriously? Huh. I was trying to pull some facts out of him but he was a tough nut.
Me: "Miss is an awfully strong word."
Him: "ok... sorry to bother you then...."
Me: "That's ok."
Was that it? How would I find out who this was? Who missed me so much? A couple of weeks ago, when Mr. Lives-with-Grandma wouldn't leave me alone, I deleted his name out of my phone and when he called me back and wanted to talk I fed him a good line, so I used it again.
Me: "I'm sorry. I just cleared numbers out of my phone. I thought I'd be able to tell who this was by but you were saying but I'm still not sure."
Him: " nevermind NOAH.....wow....."
Me: "Alrighty then."
I imagine that it was Mr. Lives-with-Grandma again. We only talked for 2 days! One of two things is true; I make quite an impression or his life sucks hard. Maybe both are true.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Winter Wonderland
Hello all,
I am writing you today from my car while the snow falls around me. I am waiting for my dog to be done at the groomers. Just minutes ago, I was waiting in my car outside of a coffee house that I usually go to while he gets his hair done. The place was closed because of the inclement weather, but I still used the internet connection from my laptop in my car.
The groomers called me to tell me that Graham was close to being done and that I could come anytime. I put my car into reverse to leave the parking lot and…………nothing! I wasn’t going anywhere! I was stuck in the snow! And as if you couldn’t tell I am not one of those resourceful gay men who can understand football, knows things about cars, or likes to work outside, so naturally I was screwed. I thought kitty litter. KITTY LITTER!!! I can use kitty litter for traction! No, no, I don’t have a cat (I’m allergic) or kitty litter in the back of my car. I thought this was it, this is how I die, frozen in a Hosier winter storm. Naturally, my initial thoughts went to my blog. I had had such an interesting week but there wasn’t a cohesive element to tie it into a story, so I contemplated putting it into bullet format. It would have looked something like this:
-The other day at work a small girl and what I assumed to be her mother came through my lane. I wasn’t listening to what the girl was saying at first, but as she came into earshot she was continuously chanting/screaming. “This is my dad’s girlfriend!!!! This is my dad’s girlfriend!!!!” Now, to the unimaginative stranger you may think that she had a single father, but I thought otherwise, and it became a much more interesting transaction.
-On Friday night I met a new friend and slept over at his town house that evening because of the distance and time of night that we got in from dancing. When we went to bed it was very cozy and dark in his home and I paid no notice to his décor but by the morning came it was a different story. As my eyes opened I saw a waterfall scene behind his bed. I sat up while my eyes adjusted and said, “Uh, is that a giant waterfall picture on the wall?” He said it was and that he had a special affinity for water falls. “Huh, that’s nice,” I said. On the way to the living room I noticed a picture on the wall of a fisherman’s wharf; it plugged into the wall, and was a working fountain. I pointed at it indirectly and politely asked if he had ever had any roommates who had left things behind. He said that everything in the house was his. “Huh, that’s nice,” I said. At the breakfast table there was a decorative table fountain and I asked if he found the sound of water soothing. He said that he did, but that specific fountain was for the cat to drink out of. I am highly allergic to cats and knew that one was there because of all of the clotted blood in my nose. Trying not to gag as I imagined a cat sitting where my cereal was I said, “Huh, that’s nice.” As we cleared the table I turned on myself to inspect the living room and what I found was something that I can’t do the justice of describing, but I’ll try. Radiating from the corner of the room he had built an indoor waterfall. Because of his vaulted ceilings, he was able to use15ft. bamboo trees and the base of the rock fountain was 5ft. high; he had also spread pebbles, the same shade ass the carpet, in a semicircle all around the instillation. It took up a corner of the room, but because of the shrubbery, it projected into the room as well. Fully knowing that I would never enter this house again, I stood there with my mouth wide open while he described to me the difference between Japanese and Chinese water gardens and I said, “Huh, that’s nice.”
-The other day at work I was in the break room watching Ellen. She was talking about a recent trip to the doctor where she received a colonoscopy and had not yet reached the punch line. One of my managers was in the room with me and found it necessary to engage me in conversation. He acts like and tells me that I am so much younger than him but in reality, I think we’re the same age. He has the skin of an anemic hot dog, a full head of hair but still has a comb over that goes from ear to ear, and I am certain that he was breast fed until he was 15 or 16.
Him: “Uhhhhhhhhh, hey!”
Me: “Hello.”
“That is actually how it is.”
“What?”
“A colonoscopy, that is an accurate description. I had that procedure done last year.”
“Huh.” Realizing that he had just talked over the punch line.
“Yes, if I had to describe it that would be exactly it. They put a piece of blue plastic in your mouth, ask you to roll over, and you wake up 6 hours later.”
I thought that I had seen movies that started like that, but I didn’t think he would find that funny, so I just nodded and smiled. Later on in the day we were stocking a shelf next to a TV that was playing the prequel to the Little Mermaid. Just trying to make conversation I had realized that the evil sea witch’s henchman was a manatee and said,
“Did you know that sailors used to think that manatees were mermaids and that’s where the legend begins?”
Him: “Oh,…….. is that so?”
“Yes, but it kind of bothers me to see a manatee on the ocean floor……..It’s a mammal, it wouldn’t survive on the ocean floor.”
“Oh, yes. But there’s also another reason a manatee could not be the friend of an evil sea witch.”
“Why’s that?” I said
Dead serious, not joking at all “They just don’t have the demeanor for it.”
“………Oh, yeah. I heard that once.” I walked away as quickly as possible.
Seriously, as I was stuck in the snow I thought of this, that and Graham. Who would pick him up? Who would take care of him?!?! Oh my God!! My eyes frantically chased from side to side and fell upon the letter “N”. I was in neutral. I was revving my engine in neutral, thinking that I was stuck in the snow. I put my car in reverse, for real and hightailed it to where I am now, waiting for Graham. I am not an idiot, I’m just eccentric.
I am writing you today from my car while the snow falls around me. I am waiting for my dog to be done at the groomers. Just minutes ago, I was waiting in my car outside of a coffee house that I usually go to while he gets his hair done. The place was closed because of the inclement weather, but I still used the internet connection from my laptop in my car.
The groomers called me to tell me that Graham was close to being done and that I could come anytime. I put my car into reverse to leave the parking lot and…………nothing! I wasn’t going anywhere! I was stuck in the snow! And as if you couldn’t tell I am not one of those resourceful gay men who can understand football, knows things about cars, or likes to work outside, so naturally I was screwed. I thought kitty litter. KITTY LITTER!!! I can use kitty litter for traction! No, no, I don’t have a cat (I’m allergic) or kitty litter in the back of my car. I thought this was it, this is how I die, frozen in a Hosier winter storm. Naturally, my initial thoughts went to my blog. I had had such an interesting week but there wasn’t a cohesive element to tie it into a story, so I contemplated putting it into bullet format. It would have looked something like this:
-The other day at work a small girl and what I assumed to be her mother came through my lane. I wasn’t listening to what the girl was saying at first, but as she came into earshot she was continuously chanting/screaming. “This is my dad’s girlfriend!!!! This is my dad’s girlfriend!!!!” Now, to the unimaginative stranger you may think that she had a single father, but I thought otherwise, and it became a much more interesting transaction.
-On Friday night I met a new friend and slept over at his town house that evening because of the distance and time of night that we got in from dancing. When we went to bed it was very cozy and dark in his home and I paid no notice to his décor but by the morning came it was a different story. As my eyes opened I saw a waterfall scene behind his bed. I sat up while my eyes adjusted and said, “Uh, is that a giant waterfall picture on the wall?” He said it was and that he had a special affinity for water falls. “Huh, that’s nice,” I said. On the way to the living room I noticed a picture on the wall of a fisherman’s wharf; it plugged into the wall, and was a working fountain. I pointed at it indirectly and politely asked if he had ever had any roommates who had left things behind. He said that everything in the house was his. “Huh, that’s nice,” I said. At the breakfast table there was a decorative table fountain and I asked if he found the sound of water soothing. He said that he did, but that specific fountain was for the cat to drink out of. I am highly allergic to cats and knew that one was there because of all of the clotted blood in my nose. Trying not to gag as I imagined a cat sitting where my cereal was I said, “Huh, that’s nice.” As we cleared the table I turned on myself to inspect the living room and what I found was something that I can’t do the justice of describing, but I’ll try. Radiating from the corner of the room he had built an indoor waterfall. Because of his vaulted ceilings, he was able to use15ft. bamboo trees and the base of the rock fountain was 5ft. high; he had also spread pebbles, the same shade ass the carpet, in a semicircle all around the instillation. It took up a corner of the room, but because of the shrubbery, it projected into the room as well. Fully knowing that I would never enter this house again, I stood there with my mouth wide open while he described to me the difference between Japanese and Chinese water gardens and I said, “Huh, that’s nice.”
-The other day at work I was in the break room watching Ellen. She was talking about a recent trip to the doctor where she received a colonoscopy and had not yet reached the punch line. One of my managers was in the room with me and found it necessary to engage me in conversation. He acts like and tells me that I am so much younger than him but in reality, I think we’re the same age. He has the skin of an anemic hot dog, a full head of hair but still has a comb over that goes from ear to ear, and I am certain that he was breast fed until he was 15 or 16.
Him: “Uhhhhhhhhh, hey!”
Me: “Hello.”
“That is actually how it is.”
“What?”
“A colonoscopy, that is an accurate description. I had that procedure done last year.”
“Huh.” Realizing that he had just talked over the punch line.
“Yes, if I had to describe it that would be exactly it. They put a piece of blue plastic in your mouth, ask you to roll over, and you wake up 6 hours later.”
I thought that I had seen movies that started like that, but I didn’t think he would find that funny, so I just nodded and smiled. Later on in the day we were stocking a shelf next to a TV that was playing the prequel to the Little Mermaid. Just trying to make conversation I had realized that the evil sea witch’s henchman was a manatee and said,
“Did you know that sailors used to think that manatees were mermaids and that’s where the legend begins?”
Him: “Oh,…….. is that so?”
“Yes, but it kind of bothers me to see a manatee on the ocean floor……..It’s a mammal, it wouldn’t survive on the ocean floor.”
“Oh, yes. But there’s also another reason a manatee could not be the friend of an evil sea witch.”
“Why’s that?” I said
Dead serious, not joking at all “They just don’t have the demeanor for it.”
“………Oh, yeah. I heard that once.” I walked away as quickly as possible.
Seriously, as I was stuck in the snow I thought of this, that and Graham. Who would pick him up? Who would take care of him?!?! Oh my God!! My eyes frantically chased from side to side and fell upon the letter “N”. I was in neutral. I was revving my engine in neutral, thinking that I was stuck in the snow. I put my car in reverse, for real and hightailed it to where I am now, waiting for Graham. I am not an idiot, I’m just eccentric.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Foreign Thoughts
Hello all,
I never realized it before, but even in Indianapolis, I live in an integrated society. I grew up in Indiana but I never even had a conversation with a black person until I was in college. It’s not that I avoided people of color, I just never saw any. It took me a few months not to say things like, “What color is your tongue?”, “So what do you do for Christmas?”, or “Can I touch your hair?” I wasn’t racist, I was just curious. Now I talk to people of various ethnicities and rarely ever notice their color, speech, though, still makes me giggle a little.
I was walking through the kitchen in the restaurant where I work and one of the kitchen guys was chugging a small cup of soup. It didn’t bother me that he was eating in the kitchen; I’ve seen way worse stuff happen around that stove. This particular cook fooled me the first few times we talked, he knew how to say “Hello” and “How are you?” with no trace of an accent. I would proceed with more complex questions and he had no idea what I was talking about. Well, after he was done with his soup as I walked by, I raised an eyebrow and he called after me, “Noah!! I have hungry!!!” He he.
At my other job, I was ringing in between a Chinese lady and an Indian man, English is not the native tongue to either. They were talking to eachother about God knows what and it kept a smile on my face for 15 minutes. They could have been talking about business or the weather, but I don’t think either of them carried one point from the other into their next statement. I experienced this while I was in New York, 2 foreign people trying use a English as a common bond. It’s like listening to 7 year olds talk about sex; neither of them quite knows exactly how to master the subject but the misunderstood understanding makes them both proud.
Later in the day a crazy man came through my lane. He looked perfectly fine, like the cutest kind of guy you could see changing your oil, but would never actually hook up with. Anyways, he came up to me and yelled,
Crazy: “How are you?” (said in Spanish, which I will not misspell)
Me: “Good!” (also in Spanish)
Crazy: “mnjhsfduhfuwe ,dua jfua hgug”
Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s all the Spanish I know.”
Crazy: “That’s a’iet!”
Me: “I took 8 years for German.”
Crazy: “German? Oh, German! Yeah, you know what they say in German? Fuck You!!!”
Me: “……………………”
Crazy: “FUCK YOU!!!!! Ha!!!”
Me: “……….um I’m good thanks.”
Crazy: “Huh, are you Jewish?”
Me: “No, Lutheran.”
Crazy: “Lutheran, huh, like them protestants and shit?”
Me: “The very ones.”
Crazy: “Huh, they gotta lotta people from over there, like Hitler.”
Me: “Yes, Hitler was in fact from Germany.”
Crazy: “And you know who else came from up there, that John guy, yeah, John.”
Me: “Ah, yes, well…. have a good day.”
Crazy: “Yeah, uh, how do you say goodbye in Germany?”
Me: “Aufwiedersein.”
Crazy: “Wha? Well, Offverseyn, or shit ha ha!”
Me: “Uhhm, bye.”
As he left I looked over at the next cashier, who reminds me of an Indian Kelly Kapowski, and mouthed, “OMIGOD!!!!” I don’t think she knew what I mouthed but she was as enthusiastic about the crazy man as I was.
I never realized it before, but even in Indianapolis, I live in an integrated society. I grew up in Indiana but I never even had a conversation with a black person until I was in college. It’s not that I avoided people of color, I just never saw any. It took me a few months not to say things like, “What color is your tongue?”, “So what do you do for Christmas?”, or “Can I touch your hair?” I wasn’t racist, I was just curious. Now I talk to people of various ethnicities and rarely ever notice their color, speech, though, still makes me giggle a little.
I was walking through the kitchen in the restaurant where I work and one of the kitchen guys was chugging a small cup of soup. It didn’t bother me that he was eating in the kitchen; I’ve seen way worse stuff happen around that stove. This particular cook fooled me the first few times we talked, he knew how to say “Hello” and “How are you?” with no trace of an accent. I would proceed with more complex questions and he had no idea what I was talking about. Well, after he was done with his soup as I walked by, I raised an eyebrow and he called after me, “Noah!! I have hungry!!!” He he.
At my other job, I was ringing in between a Chinese lady and an Indian man, English is not the native tongue to either. They were talking to eachother about God knows what and it kept a smile on my face for 15 minutes. They could have been talking about business or the weather, but I don’t think either of them carried one point from the other into their next statement. I experienced this while I was in New York, 2 foreign people trying use a English as a common bond. It’s like listening to 7 year olds talk about sex; neither of them quite knows exactly how to master the subject but the misunderstood understanding makes them both proud.
Later in the day a crazy man came through my lane. He looked perfectly fine, like the cutest kind of guy you could see changing your oil, but would never actually hook up with. Anyways, he came up to me and yelled,
Crazy: “How are you?” (said in Spanish, which I will not misspell)
Me: “Good!” (also in Spanish)
Crazy: “mnjhsfduhfuwe ,dua jfua hgug”
Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s all the Spanish I know.”
Crazy: “That’s a’iet!”
Me: “I took 8 years for German.”
Crazy: “German? Oh, German! Yeah, you know what they say in German? Fuck You!!!”
Me: “……………………”
Crazy: “FUCK YOU!!!!! Ha!!!”
Me: “……….um I’m good thanks.”
Crazy: “Huh, are you Jewish?”
Me: “No, Lutheran.”
Crazy: “Lutheran, huh, like them protestants and shit?”
Me: “The very ones.”
Crazy: “Huh, they gotta lotta people from over there, like Hitler.”
Me: “Yes, Hitler was in fact from Germany.”
Crazy: “And you know who else came from up there, that John guy, yeah, John.”
Me: “Ah, yes, well…. have a good day.”
Crazy: “Yeah, uh, how do you say goodbye in Germany?”
Me: “Aufwiedersein.”
Crazy: “Wha? Well, Offverseyn, or shit ha ha!”
Me: “Uhhm, bye.”
As he left I looked over at the next cashier, who reminds me of an Indian Kelly Kapowski, and mouthed, “OMIGOD!!!!” I don’t think she knew what I mouthed but she was as enthusiastic about the crazy man as I was.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Real Men Use Chopsticks
Hello all,
Just so you know, even though you may not believe me, interesting things don't happen to me everyday. Somedays I need a little bit of perspective to realize what is funny and what is just mildly amusing. So for those of you, how I am like you personal crack, I apologize for any delay of posting because of writer's anxiety and mundane jobs.
Anywho-New Year's Eve. So I went out by myself and and had a spectacular time. I was wearing a new outfit (indigo shirt, white and silvery tie, grey vest, my tightest jeans- oh yeah, I was in it to win it) and I chugged a fruit smoothie with a crap load of vodka in it from the car to the bar. Drinks are expensive and driving intoxicated, although it happens, is also not cool. I just felt I needed to clarify that.
So, a handful of drinks later, I woke up the next morning in some guy's bed (no judgement). We could call him....Mr. Has-a-cat, or we could call him Mr. Smokes-with-drinks, but for the sake of hilarity, let's call him Mr. Lives-with-Grandma. Now, life happens, I of all people understand this and people who live in glass houses with relatives shouldn't throw rocks.....unless it's your only way out. But when I sobered up around 9 a.m. and found myself peeing into one of those toilets with the medical seat and handle bars attached to the bowl, I knew there was something different between living with you parents and living with your 83 year old grandmother who just broke her hip.
Mr. Lives-with-Grandma was very into me, which I found very endearing, and after I left him that morning the first 20 texts were more than welcomed. But somewhere in between the 50th "Can't wait to C U!!!" text (gag) and me showing up to the bar a half our early, where I realized I was way too cute for him and was getting hit on by a plethora of guys in my waist range, I lost interest. At the second bar I met many more fun guys and Mr. Lives-with Grandma faded into the background with nothing more than a blurry memory and about 8 angry texts I found on my phone the next morning.
The next morning I woke up with a new friend (no judgement!) and he could have a real name as well, but let's call him Stumpy-end of story.
I was sitting at P. F. Changs today thinking over my lunch special. I looked left and I looked right and decided that I was the most sophisticated person at the bar. It wasn't my love of the arts, feelings of competitive drive during a heated game of Jeopardy!, or the fact that I read books for fun; I was the only one using chopsticks. I do not eat exceedingly well with chopsticks, but I try. I try because when I see someone eating with chopsticks I think, "Whoa, he must know what he's doing!" And that's hot. I am looking for a man who eats with chopsticks. He could be named Mr. Unemployed or Mr. Doesn't-believe-in-manscaping, he could even be named Mr. No-college-degree, but as long as he ate with chopsticks, he would make it through the second date......It wouldn't hurt if he was independently wealthy and really hot; I mean if he's going to be a hairy unemployed college drop-out he better be hot.....or rich.
Just so you know, even though you may not believe me, interesting things don't happen to me everyday. Somedays I need a little bit of perspective to realize what is funny and what is just mildly amusing. So for those of you, how I am like you personal crack, I apologize for any delay of posting because of writer's anxiety and mundane jobs.
Anywho-New Year's Eve. So I went out by myself and and had a spectacular time. I was wearing a new outfit (indigo shirt, white and silvery tie, grey vest, my tightest jeans- oh yeah, I was in it to win it) and I chugged a fruit smoothie with a crap load of vodka in it from the car to the bar. Drinks are expensive and driving intoxicated, although it happens, is also not cool. I just felt I needed to clarify that.
So, a handful of drinks later, I woke up the next morning in some guy's bed (no judgement). We could call him....Mr. Has-a-cat, or we could call him Mr. Smokes-with-drinks, but for the sake of hilarity, let's call him Mr. Lives-with-Grandma. Now, life happens, I of all people understand this and people who live in glass houses with relatives shouldn't throw rocks.....unless it's your only way out. But when I sobered up around 9 a.m. and found myself peeing into one of those toilets with the medical seat and handle bars attached to the bowl, I knew there was something different between living with you parents and living with your 83 year old grandmother who just broke her hip.
Mr. Lives-with-Grandma was very into me, which I found very endearing, and after I left him that morning the first 20 texts were more than welcomed. But somewhere in between the 50th "Can't wait to C U!!!" text (gag) and me showing up to the bar a half our early, where I realized I was way too cute for him and was getting hit on by a plethora of guys in my waist range, I lost interest. At the second bar I met many more fun guys and Mr. Lives-with Grandma faded into the background with nothing more than a blurry memory and about 8 angry texts I found on my phone the next morning.
The next morning I woke up with a new friend (no judgement!) and he could have a real name as well, but let's call him Stumpy-end of story.
I was sitting at P. F. Changs today thinking over my lunch special. I looked left and I looked right and decided that I was the most sophisticated person at the bar. It wasn't my love of the arts, feelings of competitive drive during a heated game of Jeopardy!, or the fact that I read books for fun; I was the only one using chopsticks. I do not eat exceedingly well with chopsticks, but I try. I try because when I see someone eating with chopsticks I think, "Whoa, he must know what he's doing!" And that's hot. I am looking for a man who eats with chopsticks. He could be named Mr. Unemployed or Mr. Doesn't-believe-in-manscaping, he could even be named Mr. No-college-degree, but as long as he ate with chopsticks, he would make it through the second date......It wouldn't hurt if he was independently wealthy and really hot; I mean if he's going to be a hairy unemployed college drop-out he better be hot.....or rich.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
